


Bennie and the Jets

by williamastankova



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anger, Boys Kissing, Drunkenness, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Flirting, Grinding, Hate to Love, Jealousy, Kissing, Love/Hate, M/M, Party, Rough Kissing, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: It's a boring party. It's a boring place. It's a boring time, all around. Only, when he sees Steve Harrington, things don't seem quite so boring, and when they get thrown into a closet with seven minutes to do whatever they want? Well, the night really is looking up for them, now.





	Bennie and the Jets

This music is too loud. Billy decides almost instantly that the party is a dud, even though other people seem to be having a good time, because he can barely hear himself think, and they've already started to run out of drinks. Seriously, it's not even nine yet, are they preteens or what?

He scoffs, throwing back another beer. At least, while it's here, he's going to enjoy it. He's going to get as drunk as he possibly can, and he's going to black out, and he's not going to remember half of this shit - maybe even less than half, if he's lucky. He's praying the night goes fast, because even though he's not enjoying himself right now, he knows he'd enjoy himself a whole hell of a lot less back home.

It's one of those nights for Neil. Well, every night is one of those nights, but this one is special, in the worst way possible. It's a Friday, and Billy knew from the get-go that he didn't want to be at home that night. He figures he'll skip going back, too, until he's sure Neil has passed out from drunkenness. Billy had all but threatened Max into making plans with her friends that involve her sleeping out, because he knows if he's not there then she's Neil's next target. She didn't have a word to say against him, seeing the serious look on his face.

Oh well, he figures, none of that mattered anyways, not now at least. For now, he's going to focus on pouring alcohol down his throat until he can barely see, then pour some more until he's on the floor. It's safe enough, he figures, because he at least knows whose house he's in - Linda, the brunette from his biology class - and she seems safe enough, at least from what he can gauge. He's usually a good judge of character, considering who he lives with.

At first, he'd had Tommy following him around, haunting him like a shadow, but somewhere along the line he'd lost him, so he's left walking around like he's a freshman on his first day. He makes a point of looking up everybody as he goes past - guys and girls - to let them know that, even though he's alone, he's not somebody to be fucked with. He finishes his beer pretty quickly, and grabs the nearest unopened one, then slips into the living room.

There's this droning, ancient song playing, one he thinks his mom used to like, something that has a regular beat and he thinks is by Elton John. He doesn't know, and he doesn't care. He scans the room, and smirks to himself when his eyes fall upon one particular boy.

"Harrington!" He calls out from across the room, beginning to push his way through the crowd of sweating teenagers. He tries again when Steve doesn't seem to hear him. "Harrington!"

And he definitely heard him that time, because they lock eyes, and Steve's knees suddenly buckle, and it looks like he's trying to hide behind the small frame of some chick Billy can't see the face of. From the hair alone - short, chopped into a bob, somewhere between blonde and brown - he figures it's Nancy. He draws closer and he finds he's right.

She looks possibly even more fed up than Steve, because her usually pretty features are all dragged down, and she looks like she's aged fifty years - possibly more. His grin grows, and he nods to her when he speaks again to Steve.

"You two back together then?" He teases Steve, knowing this should elicit the right reaction - the one he craves each and every time he sees the boy.

Steve rolls his eyes, not even looking intimidated, just looking bored of Billy. "Get lost, Billy."

Billy brings a hand to his heart and feigns hurt. He hopes he looks devastated, but doesn't say anything more. He turns his attention to Nancy, trying to figure out the quickest way to get rid of her.

"My oh my, you are pretty, aren't you?" Between his purposeful drawl and intentionally creepy vibe, he's sure this ought to work. Nancy just shoots him a look, but he persists. "Steve, man, if you're not going to take her, I might. That'll be one for the black book."

"I said get lost," Steve suddenly jumps in, sounding defensive, and spins Billy around, splaying a hand on his chest and drawing his face closer to his. "What part of that don't you understand?"

Billy betrays himself when he casts his eyes down to Steve's lips. He's just about to think of how nice they look, how supple and kissable, before he's mentally reprimanding himself and forcing his gaze back up to Steve's eyes. He decides it's high time to back down, but not with one last word - one last mocking statement.

"Steve, Steve, Steve," he shakes his head, not stepping back until the last moment, finding he rather likes the unexpected warmth spilling from Steve's hand into his chest, warming his cold, dead heart, "I thought we had something special."

Steve doesn't even blink as he waits for Billy to back down, which he eventually does, begrudgingly. He's prepared to spit at Steve's feet, but he figures that'd just make a scene, which none of them want. If he did that, people would expect Steve to retaliate, and then he'd have to fight, which really isn't what he came here for. Even further than that, he'd more than likely end up being thrown out onto the streets, and he's really not looking to go home or freeze to death.

He slips back into the crowd, not casting a look back at Steve, and loses himself for a while. The next time he comes back to himself, he's in the kitchen, all up close and personal with some chick he doesn't even know, all to put on a show. He shakes it off, managing to lose her by telling her he's going to the bathroom (and that she should definitely _not_  follow him in, like it seemed she was ready to). He hides in there for a little while, then his vision cuts out and he's suddenly pressing some guy against the sink.

He doesn't remember how he got here. When he first went into the bathroom, he was alone, he's sure of it. He had been alone, had been leaning against the wall, on the sink, whatever. But now... now he's kissing some stranger, some skinny guy he's never seen in his life, and it almost feels like he's having an acid trip. Still, he doesn't pull back from the guy for some time, and when he does the guy is all flushed and aglow.

He looks like he's ready to go again, but Billy doesn't look at him after that. He lets himself out of the bathroom, feeling inexplicably dirty. He wants to wash himself, but that would involve going back into the bathroom, which he can't face again, not right now. He instead finds himself another drink (this time he's not sure if it's open or not, but he doesn't think about the dangers of the former in the moment he starts to sip from it).

Walking around aimlessly, he has time to just acknowledge the party scene. He hears the song change a handful of times, doesn't ever really know the titles or artists, but bobs along anyways. He watches as a couple of people start to make out - guys and guys, guys and girls, girls and girls, it doesn't seem to faze them - and suddenly feels very alone. His drunken mind seems to think it's okay for him to begin to search for Steve, but he's stopped in his tracks when a guy's voice breaks into his mind.

"Alright, now that you two are done..." Billy loses some part of the dude's sentence, but it makes some sense anyway when he continues, "...spin!"

He watches a little too intently as a girl crawls to the centre of the circle he hadn't noticed being formed, and she spins the bottle placed in the centre. Her electric blue dress rides up a little too high for Billy's personal comfort, but the rest of the guys in the group don't seem to have any issue with it, or at least they don't mention it if they do.

As he looks around the circle, one man catches his eye. There, leaning back on his hands, looking dazed and chill, sits Steve. Beside a half-empty bottle with his hair pushed back out of his eyes, he looks... cool. Billy dares not think of a greater word than that, because any alternative is going to make him want to take a cold shower. Even still, the mere sight of the boy sends him heading straight towards the group, making a bee-line for the group where the girl and a random guy are standing, giggling, and heading off towards the cupboard under the stairs.

"What's going on?" He says as he breaches the circle. The guy who had previously been speaking meets his eye and smiles a lopsided smile.

"Seven minutes in heaven," he explains briefly, "Wanna join in?"

"Sure," Billy says, and as though he were Moses there forms a spot in the circle for him. He takes it, nodding to the people either side of him. Hell, apparently being drunk makes him a nicer person; who'd have thought it?

He knows how this works. He's not stupid, and he's been to plenty of parties before. But now, tonight, here, there's a new buzz. He feels excitement in the air, and he thinks it's just him radiating it, but he suddenly wants to be a part of the stupid, childish game. He wants to spin the bottle, wants to disappear off into the cupboard with someone - with one specific someone - even though the thought terrifies him at the same time.

Alternatively, there's a negative vibe in the circle, one which he immediately knows is coming from Steve. The boy won't stop glaring a him, willing him to leave, but Billy won't listen. He won't heed this advice, even though it's probably a good idea to go before anything serious happens. Maybe he won't be missed by the group as a whole, but he'll miss the game, and he decides this isn't a risk he's willing to take.

He drops Steve's eye, ignoring how the boy's gaze burns hot into his skin even when he refuses to look back. He feels somewhat guilty, but when it comes to his turn, after a good four or so couples have vanished into the closet together and emerged all red and dishevelled, he's shaking with anticipation. He looks to the leader of the group, who nods, signalling it's his turn to spin the bottle.

He kneels, then crawls into the middle of the circle. He's so nervous and so excited and so _everything_  in that moment that, when the bottle spins and stops spinning, he's barely even there to see where it lands. It's the chorus of 'ooh's and hisses that make him register who it's on. He follows the lip of the bottle and, sure enough, it's pointing directly at Steve, who looks like he'd rather be absolutely anywhere else on earth.

"No, no way," Steve's the first to voice his complaint, primarily because Billy doesn't have any. "He has to spin again, right? It can't be me. I'm a guy."

"Hey, no fair!" One of the girls calls, "Nancy and I had to do it when it landed on us. Get in the closet, Steve."

"Sounds like he should be coming out of it," somebody intelligently quips, and Steve casts a nervous look at Nancy, whose face has turned a little pink, but she only offers him a small shrug and a pat on the back when he sighs, resigning, and stands.

It feels like the whole entire group watches them like vultures when they leave. Were the sick perverts waiting for this to happen? Was it rigged the whole time? Poor Nancy and anonymous girl. Poor him and Steve. Poor Steve.

Even so, a game is a game, so the two of them disappear into the closet, which somebody shuts and locks behind them. Left in the pitch black, Billy wonders who's going to make the first move - to speak, or do otherwise.

Steve, apparently, decides that it should be him. He takes it upon himself to (rather rudely) quip, "If you try anything, Hargrove, I'll cut your hand off. Don't think I won't."

Billy chuckles into the darkness. "I'd like to see you try, pretty boy."

Steve audibly groans, and Billy thinks that'll give the people outside something to chat about in hushed whispers. "Can you not call me that? Especially not now. It's weird, dude."

"Weird?" Billy makes his voice as smooth as possible, like melted butter. "What's weird about it, Harrington?"

"Oh, just two dudes, in a closet, expected to make out, and one of them calls the other pretty," Steve obviously feigns nonchalance, which Billy supposes defeats the purpose, "No biggie."

There's a beat that's so thick with tension, Billy could cut it with a knife. Then, he says, rather too confidently, "Bet I could make it weirder."

Steve doesn't respond right away. It feels like he's waiting for Billy to do something, to follow up on this promise, but Billy doesn't want to assume this is the case. He's not going down for touching Steve up in a darkened room, so he waits for the verbal consent. And, after a few seconds that feel like a small eternity, there comes a meek, "Alright, go on then."

Billy sucks in a harsh breath, as though he wasn't the one to initiate it in the first place, then he takes a small step forward and reaches out for Steve, and then he's there - right there, right in front of him, right under his fingers. He runs a hand tentatively down Steve's arm, and he could swear the boy would be blue if the lights were on, because he hasn't heard him breathe since being touched.

His hand finds Steve's own, and he grasps it. Lacking grace, he eventually threads their fingers together, but it's his turn to feel at a loss when Steve's fingers come and curl around his own, like he wants him there. His heart is racing, so fast he can hear it in his ears. He becomes afraid that it's going to burst and this'll all be over too soon.

One hand interlaced with Steve's, the other finds Steve's shoulder. He uses it to steady himself, preparing for what he's about to do. He thinks they've had about two minutes already, which isn't so bad really. He starts to near Steve's face, cupping his jaw, running his thumb absently on the stubble there. They grow so close he can feel his own reflected breath, can sense Steve's face _right there_ , but suddenly - just as he's about to kiss him - Steve's free hand is on his chest, stopping him where he is.

"Are you going to kiss me?"

He wishes to God he could see Steve's face then and there, because he simply doesn't know how he's meant to take that. It doesn't sound especially judgemental, but he can't be sure either way. He's never felt more sober for a drunk man, because in this moment it feels like he hasn't had a single drop of alcohol. He can hear everything, almost feel the turn of the earth, because he's so deathly afraid of what'll happen if he says yes or if he says no, he doesn't want to say anything.

Only, if he doesn't say anything, he knows Steve's going to take that as an automatic no, and any chance he might have of kissing him is completely gone, and he's scared of that more than anything else. He doesn't care that he's already kissed some guy tonight, because Steve isn't just _some guy_ , he's Steve.

"I- uh, yeah," he settles, concluding, "I was going to, anyway."

A skipped beat. "Oh, alright. Just making sure."

Then the hand on his chest is gone, and it's on his back, and suddenly he's got Steve against the door. It's almost like all of their hate is gone, their feud dissolved into nothingness. He presses his lips to Steve's more fervently than he had intended to initially, but it's good - it's all good to him.

Steve uses the hand on his back to pull him closer, flush against him, and Billy feels so divine, so wanted, so worshipped, he might just implode then and there. He groans into Steve, making the kiss break, and he feels the boy laugh against his lips when it does. He purrs against Steve's skin, burying himself into the expanse of bared neck.

"Jesus, Harrington," he speaks slowly, low and purposeful, "If I'd have known you wanted me this bad-"

"Oh, shut _up_ ," Steve tugs him back in, kissing him square on the mouth again, and Billy is most definitely not going to be the one to complain. He kisses Steve gratefully, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be, and he can safely say there isn't.

He feels daring, his courage built up by how the other boy is kissing him, so he snakes a hand down Steve's side and slips it under his shirt. Part of him is expecting Steve to slap the hand away and push him off, probably sending him flying into an unseen shelf and leaving him with a concussion. That'd fit their dynamic more, because this - them, being loving and adoring an attentive - just doesn't feel quite right. It feels like Billy doesn't deserve this kind of heavenly experience.

Steve, beneath his shirt, is all skin and bones. Well, okay, maybe that's not fair, because the longer Billy touches him for, the more he can feel how Steve is actually surprisingly toned, but Billy can still feel his ribs beneath his skin. Even as he groans and rakes his fingernails down it, grinding himself against Steve, he makes a mental note to check what Steve's having for lunch routinely, to make sure it's enough.

He's sustained, at least for now, because he has the strength to push Billy back - not leaving his lips - so their roles are reversed. Billy wishes once again for the light, because he's sure Steve looks perfect like this: all proud of himself, loving the newfound sense of power. Even though Billy could definitely fight back and regain the dominance, he lets Steve have the moment to himself.

The hand under Steve's shirt returns to Billy's side in the blink of an eye, as soon as they catch sight of rays of light seeping in through the growing crack in the door. Swinging open, there's some noise from outside, and Billy thinks someone is speaking to them though he's not sure what they're saying, and Steve's face falls again as he slinks outside, and they mutually agree to pretend like nothing happened, even though their messed hair and kiss-bruised lips suggest otherwise. What do they know anyway?

They get looks from just about everybody - those playing and those not - as they exit the closet. He's sure there's about a hundred thousand jokes that can be made about that action alone, and he's positive he's going to hear at least one in the next five minutes. He doesn't mind, though. To his own surprise, he finds he couldn't care less about what people have to say, because there's a new song starting, and it sounds pretty damn good, even if he doesn't know it.

People can say whatever they want because now he can look at Steve whenever he wants to, knowing Steve wants him too. And, whenever he looks away, he can feel Steve's eyes burning into the back of his head again, only this time it's not a threat; this time, it's a promise, and it's _wonderful_.

**Author's Note:**

> apologies if this seems rushed in any way! just had this idea and though it's far from the most original thing ever i felt like i wanted to get it out. 
> 
> thanks for reading! feel free to comment below, ideas for future fics or otherwise :)


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